Fun with Psychology
Characters: Tim Drake
Warnings: Amnesia
Bunny: Inspired by something Miss Hearts posted recently. There's a form of stress-induced amnesia called a fugue state. The victim will spontaneously forget everything about themselves, and leave home, to restart their life somewhere, and upon emerging from the fugue, will usually forget everything they did in that state.
A fugue usually only last a few days, but can stretch on for months, and allegedly in some cases, years. Sometimes even after the fugue was diagnosed, it remains intact, and the victim has to work to recover their earlier memories, and may not be able to.
According to wikipedia:
Sometimes dissociative fugue cannot be diagnosed until people abruptly return to their pre-fugue identity and are distressed to find themselves in unfamiliar circumstances. The diagnosis is usually made retroactively when a doctor reviews the history and collects information that documents the circumstances before people left home, the travel itself, and the establishment of an alternative life.
In the early events of Red Robin, after Tim confronts Dick about making Damian Robin, the stress that's been building since Bruce's 'death' hits a zenith, and triggers a fugue state.
A potential jumping off place, for anyone interested: (and, personal note, Tim's thoughts here are not my own. He's in a dark place, and not inclined to be fair.)
He left the cave. There's a pressure building in his head, an angry heat to match the sick fury in his stomach and the tight knot where his heart should be.
Oh, are you still here?
And Dick wanted that sociopathic brat as Robin, so god forbid Tim get to keep one of the few things he had left. What's a little matter like Tim matter when Dick wants something?
He can't be Robin because they're equals. Sure, Dick. Because your equal can unilaterally decide you can't have your job anymore. Dick's flimsy justification refutes itself.
At least be honest, Tim thought. He didn't want Tim around, and he didn't care about Tim anymore. If he ever did. Maybe all of that-little brother, trainsurfing, hugs-was just to make Bruce happy by having his two partners get along.
Hate, sour and thick like bile, forced its way up his throat, making it hard to breath. His blood was boiling in his veins, skin flushed with fevered heat.
Oh, are you still here?
No.